Shades to Our Hearts
by Nal'dralar
Summary: Jesse couldn't dispel her as one of the dead. He kept her alive through his subconscious, reaching out to hold her shade in thrall. Unbeknownst to him, the shade of Leslie Burke wanders Lark Creek in search of a way to pass through into the next reality.


_I, the author of this work, solemnly declare the fiction presented henceforth as a derivative based upon the original Bridge to Terabithia motion picture. The contents of the prologue may contain depictions of scenes based upon the original contents of the movie under which I, the author, denounce any claim to tenure. All material is copyrighted under their respective individuals or entities._

**Shades to Our Hearts**

**Prologue**

It all transpired so quickly. She stood at the precipice between the open river and the entrance into Terabithia with Prince Terrien securely nestled in her grasp. The rope was clutched in her hand, as sure and steady as it had ever been. On the count of three, with no less than an acute intake of breath, she made her way backwards, dragging the rope with her to dangle it diagonally from the mast of the bough it had been fastened to and plunged forward at breakneck speed.

It lifted her off of her feet as she went over the expanse, conveying an expulsion of euphoria from her swiftly winded lungs. The distance between one side and the other began to close, beckoning her to come into its fold faster than ever. Prince Terrien's yelps of delight sounded and resounded in her ears, marking the signal of another joyous occasion, with or without Jess to accompany her. Lost in the moment, her eyes closed in elation, revelling in the momentary freedom suspended above nothing but water gave her.

Then the rope gave way. It snapped, and for a split second she believed she'd landed upon the other side of the gap, thoughts of how she would get back or how she would explain to her parents the mess she had made upon her clothes already surfacing for her contemplation. It was when the sharp pain struck her, a jab of something solid and dense blowing mercilessly into her skull, that the water fast submerging and drenching her was evidenced. Her vision blurred, and she struggled to push herself up to take in a gulp of fresh air into her deprived lungs. Too late, Leslie Burke felt her body succumb to the nausea of vertigo, a sensation of a great weight having been forced atop her chest wiping out all other comprehensible thought.

Eyes a projection of her inner self, the blank unseeing orbs which crowned in-between her forehead and her nose and cheeks looked up to nothing through a haze of misty death. Water swirled above her, currents held in check by natural ecosystems swaying her clothing back and forth. Her hair, now loose and unkempt, flayed in all directions, pushed one way or another by water; the unforgiving fusion between two elements to claim her life without contrition.

Prince Terrien yapped at his mistress' feet distressed by her unresponsiveness. The puppy stood at the edge of the waterside perplexed by the unexpected turn of events. It realized something was deeply wrong, yet could do nothing given its feeble strength to wrestle with nature's forceful elements. The only option was to bark, and it did so, mustering its strength to howl into the environment around them.

The Prince's howls were drowned out by the torrential rush of the water, enhanced further by an outbreak of rain. Its cries became another part of the many sounds of the forest, and it cowered in reflection. The Prince watched his mistress drown, though it would never realize the significance of this moment. Obediently, the Prince licked the sole of one of his mistress' shoes in a wasted effort to revive her.

From behind the Prince, the transparent shade of Leslie Burke despondently watched the puppy cower for its mistress. Try as the shade might, it knew her time was at an end. It felt death's inevitable claws hastening to envelope her, and she knew for better or worse she would have to embrace it. The world was fast colouring itself gray, the memories she still withheld merging with an infinite flow of matter to be forgotten as all things inexorably must.

The shade turned, its hair billowing to mirror death's welcome. Hidden doors opened to innumerable pathways taking pretence in front of her. They promised the shade opportunity and infinite wonders. They promised the shade equality and companionship. They promised her of a life after death, and they promised her she should have no need to be afraid. Her life was at an unfortunate or fortunate end, circumstances irrespective. What she had in life, she would have in death many times the greater.

Yet she was clouded with indecision. The shade suspected this was out of the ordinary, for whilst the shade realized its memories were slipping away others were merging to become one with her. In the passing of the winds, the shade realized with surprising certainty this was not her time. The shade must cheat death, hissed the memories of past shades who had tried and failed.

_No!_

Bracing itself, the shade cast aside all other memory but to survive. No longer aware of what it was, it awaited death's arrival to deal with the usurping shade. When it did, the shade threw itself at it, too late uncovering the truth.

_Death is not an it or a thing. Death is whatever we perceive it to be. It can be minute or it can be colossal, but it is always there, indestructible to the end of days. There is no cheating death._

Tied with human perceptions, the shade flashed a brilliant white as it dived at death. Death's arms shot out to cease her attack. The shade felt death's misty breath upon her, succumbing her senses into its own. Held by death's all-encumbering arms, the shade of Leslie Burke absconded in a brilliant flash of opaque white, fading forever into the afterlife.

-----------------

Jesse Aarons' initial perception of a private excursion to the local art museum with his favourite teacher was one of indescribable ecstasy. No sooner had he placed the phone back in its proper (or improper) position and alerted his mother to where he was going had he nearly awoken the entirety of his household to proclaim to the world his sudden immaculate chance of luck.

Disregarding the prospect and the unpleasant repercussions it could land him, Jesse Aarons moved to stand outside his front porch to stare expectantly down his long driveway. Ms. Edmunds had said she'd drive up to meet him, and he had the complete assurance of a voice deep in the back of his mind she intended to keep her word. To bide the time, he ran over the list of exhibits he wanted to see, or more accurately, the exhibits which would allow for the maximum degree of intimacy, preferably with an intertwining of hands.

He was not kept long. She pulled up beside him in her rusted navy blue car within a few minutes of his wait, winding down her window to greet Jesse with her dazzling smile to which he responded to with an almost imperceptible blush. Gesturing for him to get in, he did so, sliding into the front seat beside her. The two set off at a moderate pace, stopping once outside the road leading into Leslie's home for Ms. Edmunds to retrieve her phone from her purse.

He was still unable to believe his luck. Of all the probabilities he had dwelt upon the night before, none had extended far enough into this stretch of the unknown. Here he was, cooped up in a car next to the woman he'd taken more than just a fancy to. It helped that Leslie was not present, for after the events of the day before he knew he'd have to choose one over the other sooner or later. Today however, he was able to stare confidently up at her home knowing that for all it was worth, he would spend one day with Ms. Edmunds free of her intervention.

Thinking of Leslie brought a genuine glimmer of contentment upon his usually blank or downcast face. The girl had changed him; he knew that much, into someone far more tolerant of the unfair blows life dealt him. His expression was noted by Ms. Edmunds, who looked up from her purse to discover the boy's face turned in the direction of his friend's home.

Pointing to the unfenced two-story building, with its multiple decks interlaced with overgrown shrubs hanging over the edge or clustered around the roofing of the lower deck, Ms. Edmunds asked, 'That's where Leslie Burke lives, isn't it?'

Her voice startled him, causing him to stutter a disjointed reply of yes. His vision remained focused upon Leslie's home, trying to determine which window was hers. By now, her house had become familiar to him – or at least the bottom floor – and he felt a potentially embarrassing or perverted desire to wander into the room of a girl who wasn't a part of his immediate family.

'Are you two close friends?'

The question was unexpected. He shocked himself by wishing to respond by claiming they were girlfriend and boyfriend, but he knew that was not the case – yet – nor would it contribute to his goal to hold her hand before the day was out. 'We hang out a lot,' came out in its place, suppressing an urge to elaborate into further detail.

Unbeknownst to the boy, Ms. Edmunds smiled calculatingly, weighing up Jesse's implied euphemisms. She perched forward, placing her right arm atop Jesse's headrest to look down upon her guest. 'Did you want to bring her along?'

Instantly, instinctively, Jesse refused, declining Ms. Edmunds' offer. Selfish or not, today would be his day with her, and he didn't want to share it with anybody, not even his close friend.

'Alright, then, shall we go?'

He nodded, wrenching his vision free of her home and casting it aside for another time. In spite of the nagging pang of guilt meandering through the depths of his mind at leaving Leslie behind, he knew what lay ahead would be the day he had in the past dared to only daydream about, much less fathom at actually occurring. After all, he had a whole summer ahead of him to spend together with Leslie, and he'd never be able to accomplish the same feat with Ms. Edmunds without suspicion arousing.

Ms. Edmunds started the engine up again, the sound of her aging old car piercing the stillness of the shaded road. Overhead, birds flapped out of their nests in a cry of surprise only to return to their places moments later. The loud huffs subsided, replaced by a gentle reverberating hum, and Ms. Edmunds steered the car forward into the distance. Jesse did not look back, his mind encumbered with a whole new array of potential activities they could partake in once there.

-----------------

Upon his return from the National Art Museum, Jesse could feel nothing but sheer awe and wonder at the sights he had experienced that day together with Ms. Edmunds. From meagre tapestries rising several metres into the open space between the ground and the ceiling, to art he had never conceived in the past as definable as such, Jesse concluded it had been one of the best days of his life.

The walk to his house, however, was quite the opposite. Ms. Edmunds had dropped him off several kilometres away, hastily apologizing to him and muttering something unintelligible regarding a jet of unintended steam at her place, and promised she would make it up to him sometime. Thus ensued a long walk home, spanning the outer foothills into the Lark Creek residential ground. The trip physically exhausted him, and he swore he heard more than a few sirens blaring in the distance. It never crossed his mind these sirens were actually heading in the same direction as him until he arrived home, panting heavily from the run he had transitioned into during the last kilometre.

He realised something was terribly wrong the moment he saw the ambulance swerving wildly towards him from the road he and Leslie trekked through to pass into Terabithia. Just missing him, he swore loudly at the back of the van, but he knew it was a lost cause. There were lives to save, and if it hadn't hit him, what was the point?

The near accident avoided, Jesse walked the last few paces onto his porch, furtively pushing against the door. It opened soundlessly, hinges well-oiled from his father's legwork the day prior when the rain kept them all locked inside.

Immediately, he was swamped in silence, a clear sign something was indeed amiss. His family was bunched against the kitchen table; the television was off and all of them bore downcast expressions reminiscent of a mourning, grieving loss, such as the ones which frequented the attendees of funerals.

'Guys...?' His voice cracked, confused, shocked and appalled. They were all there, his mother nurturing little Joyce Ann in her arms and his father, sitting at one end in a form which seemed to be intended to cause him a great degree of pain, his older sisters Ellie and Brenda, arms and elbows pressed against the table and May Belle, huddled in a heap, apparently having just finished sobbing.

It was his mother who looked up first, jerking upright at the sound of his voice travelling across the room. Wonder and amazement swept her face, knocking her prior melancholy back into the recesses of her mind. 'Jess...?' Her voice was uncertain, as if he was not really there, but an illusion conjured through her mind to convince her otherwise.

'Mom, what's wrong?'

The others turned their heads, even Joyce Ann, and one-by-one, Jesse felt a curtain of gloom long smothered in dust and cobwebs being lifted from his family's faces. May Belle beamed, her face transformed in a split second from a myriad of depthless despair to an emotion of relief and happiness reborn, as if she had scorched the feeling from her very soul so that it may never dwell upon her face again.

'Jess, you're alive!' May Belle cried, her voice speaking on behalf of all of them. She ran to him, arms extended to embrace him.

'Whoa, May,' he began, reaching out to clasp his sister into an embrace, 'I'm glad to see you too. Is this some kind of stunt? I mean, we don't usually have family moments, so I'm guessing this is one of them?'

His mother shook her head in reproach. Moving May Belle aside, she held him tight, wrapping her arms around his head and cramming him tight into her chest. 'Jess, where were you? The paramedics said they were unable to locate you, only Leslie at...'

'What? What's happened to Leslie?' Filled with alacrity, his response cut her short. She looked down upon her only son to see his bewildered face staring up at her. It was a brittle moment, promptly breaking her down into tears. Beside her, May Belle joined in, scrunching her face up to hold Jesse's legs to whimper like a grovelling dog or misbehaving toddler.

'Son, we need to talk.'

The voice belonged to his father, who had only just risen from his position on the table. Ellie and Brenda said nothing when he walked past, both sisters turning to look at Jesse with emotion that expressed outright sympathy and condolence the like of which he had never seen – nor believed he would ever have seen – upon his older sister's faces.

'Come on Mary, let him go,' his father's unusually soft voice pleaded, taking a hold of her shoulders in a vain attempt to detach herself from her son.

It was around this time that Jesse had had enough. Ripping free of his mother's embrace, his face contorted into an expression of blatant irritation and anger. They obviously had something important – maybe even imperative – to tell him and it concerned Leslie. His father was going to tell him, would probably have done so, had he not proposed they talk in the same form as a nurse informing a grieving husband his wife had died in childbirth. Leslie certainly wasn't pregnant and there was no way, not even if she'd fallen in lava, had she died. Had she died?

'She's dead, Jess. Your friend Leslie is dead, drowned in the river.'

His father's gruff statement glanced him with little more than a passing blow. Its blatancy and unexpectedness was something Jesse had come to expect, which consequently often lead to his statements losing their intended effect. The same could be said in this instance. The revelation came and passed him, rejected by his mind with near instant dismissal.

Strained, he queried his father to repeat himself. 'What did you say?'

Sighing, his father crouched in front of him. Face level with his own, arms at his shoulders, his father obliged.

'Leslie is dead Jess,' he said firmly, pausing for it to take effect, 'she passed away after she hit her head on something while trying to swing over the ledge with that old rope. The rope had snapped and she'd fallen into the water. No-one found her until it was too late. We thought you'd died too, until we found out you'd snuck off with your teacher for the day.'

_She's dead. Leslie is dead._

This time he did not reject the words. He absorbed them as he must, permitting them entry. They transcended the passages of his brain, scrutinized until every corner had been examined and re-examined. The depth of them was real, he realized, and they spoke of the impossible. His father's revelation brought his world to a standstill. It held him in place, his mind unexpectedly halted in steadfast denial.

To those around him, Jesse Aarons appeared to have died too. A living statue of flesh, the immobile form of Jesse Aarons stood with his eyes looking up at his father. They neither blinked nor rotated, only stared. Petrified, he remained oblivious to the world around him. Attempts to shake him from his trance failed. His mother picked up the phone, dialling 911.

When Jesse Aarons was wheeled into the hospital, further attempts were made to wake him. Preliminary reports indicated he was very much conscious, though his mind was 'beyond the limitations of humanity'. The jargon made little sense to Mr. and Mrs. Aarons, but both were unusually withdrawn from their own selves. They felt their son's loss as deeply as he did in spite of never having personally known the girl his son had.

Mrs. Aarons sat by his son's side, her bony face fully illuminated by the bright light of the ward. She spoke to him now and then, in her bid to soothe him from whatever place he had drifted into. It was all she could do – all they could do. His chest rose and fell, a clear sign his own health was strong.

From behind her, Mr. Aarons entered the ward. One look at his son told him an improvement was still far off. Their son was in a comatose state likely induced by the initial shock and disbelief Leslie's death commuted with his thought. Highly unusual, cases were rare with successful reawakening of the patient ever rarer.

Mr. Aarons' phone rang as he moved to sit himself down beside his wife. Cursing the caller, he answered grudgingly.

In a menacing tone, Mr. Aarons harshly spoke a word of greeting into the receiver. It was followed by a pleasant chuckle on the other end, a cheery testament entirely unwelcome at a time like this. The thought crossed his mind to hang up abruptly, which he managed to resist.

'Mr. Aarons, this is Bill Burke, Leslie's father,' said the voice on the other end.

And he was laughing? What was he, a nonchalant apathist? For another brief moment, he considered scolding him for acting in such a jovial mood the day his daughter had died, but once again thought better of it. Some dealt with death differently. Perhaps he was one of those people.

'I have good news, for both our sakes,' Bill continued eagerly. 'Look, the paramedics did something amazing today. We thought her dead, but she survived, although barely. She's on life support, but the important thing is she still has a chance.'

Mr. Aarons' similar reaction was predictable. Told with such certainty, none questioned Leslie Burke's death when informed by the initial paramedics at the scene. It did however, Mr. Aarons reflected, explain their reason for not wrapping her up immediately to take her into the morgue.

'How much of a chance are you saying?'

Bill Burke's sighing was audible on the other end. 'A very slim one Mr. Aarons. The doctors told me she'll probably...still pass on, though-oh for goodness sakes Mr. Aarons, just get Jess here. He'll want to see her, one last time.'

Bill Burke did not know of Jesse's condition, which the Aarons intentionally neglected to inform them of. For good reason they did not wish to burden the Burkes with anything else they could feel responsible for, Mr. and Mrs. Aarons resolutely agreed to evade mention of Jesse's trance upon hearing of his best friend's death. Reluctantly, Mr. Aarons now parted with that information.

'Oh dear god, my daughter's death affected him that badly?'

There was no help for it. Bill Burke's sole impression of his daughter's influence in her friend's life was minimal. She talked about him frequently, yet those nostalgic moments almost always ended with a line similar to 'but he doesn't like me, not in that way'. With this news broken to him, Bill Burke found himself reconsidering his decision to inform the Aarons of her daughter's miraculous survival.

After a slight pause, Bill prodded further, 'Is there any sign he will wake up soon, Mr. Aarons?'

'I don't know, Bill,' he responded, looking at his wife sobbing on Jesse's arm. 'I'd like to tell you Jesse will be just fine, that after hearing Leslie is still alive he'll suddenly wake up, but it doesn't work like that, I suppose.'

Perhaps it did. Mary Aarons turned at the mention of the name 'Leslie' and 'alive' in the same sentence. Jack Aarons recognized the same wave of amazement flood through her, he too still unable to believe it.

Jesse Aarons stirred abruptly, pushing himself out of his bed and jumping to his feet before two seconds flashed by. Determination etched into his face, he tore the cell phone from his father's hands, patted his distraught mother and strolled out of the ward. Later, Jack Aarons would ponder if his son had been listening the whole time.

'I'm coming, Mr. Burke. Which floor is Leslie on?

'Jess?' Bill Burke blurted incredulously. 'What, where – your father said you were in a coma!'

Jesse shrugged to nobody in particular. 'I was, but if Leslie is still alive I don't have to be.'

'She's on the fourth floor, ward six. Are you in the hospital now?'

'Ready and waiting, Mr. Burke,' he responded eagerly, 'I'll be there in a moment.'

Jesse hung up. The cell phone held in his right hand, he found himself standing outside an elevator shaft. Immediately, he pushed a button with a black arrow indicating the direction upwards, observing its gingerly light flare to life. The elevator doors opened, with Jesse trailing.

Upon the boy's arrival Bill Burke turned to greet him, his face dampened in sweat and tears. Leslie's father hugged Jesse instinctively, ushering him to her daughter's bedside where Mrs. Burke sat in much the same form his mother had, a grieving sentinel powerless to prevent the inevitable. She managed a weak smile, promptly bursting into a fit of racking coughs.

Leslie's ward was a circular room at the very end of Jesse's first corridor on the fourth floor. It opened up into a broad, well-lit interior, with several patients in separately screened beds. At the room's centre was an operating table cluttered with an assortment of medicines Jesse was unable to make out. Nurses and doctors prowled the room as watchers, alert and ready for any emergencies which could arise.

'Here Jess, sit,' Bill Burke insisted, pointing to a chair opposite to his wife. 'I'm sure Leslie would be grateful for your presence. Maybe she can thank you for it later.'

Jesse obliged, wordlessly sliding his body onto the chair offered to him. Praying in his friend's name, Jesse suppressed his desire to follow Mrs. Burke's lead and cry. Leslie would want him to be strong, he thought weakly. Gazing upon her dishevelled form, Jesse wondered how long it would take before his resistance against emotion would crumble.

Her body was a tangle of wires, tubes and other plastics feeding vital chemicals essential to her continued existence. Buried atop her various cuts and incisions, Jesse observed a single square device next to her mother from which numerous blue tubes extending to a mask clamped over her nose and mouth fed her oxygen. The mask itself was attached to a single piece of plastic wire which fed into her mouth, winding down her throat and oesophagus to sustain her. Wires were everywhere the eye could see, pumping her with medicines Jesse dubiously doubted he could ever identify. Chest rising and falling barely, Jesse felt a wave of nausea rush to swamp him at the horrific condition his friend was in.

Unable to suppress his emotion any longer, Jesse went out on a limb to entangle her left hand in his. His face revealing more than words ever could, Jesse bent forwards to kiss her hand as softly as he was able to manage, meticulously avoiding the wire embedded into her skin.

'It's my fault Leslie,' was the first words he spoke since entering the ward. 'If I hadn't gone with Ms. Edmunds to the museum, you'd be at home right now alive and well and happy.' He snorted. 'I guess I'm paying for it now, paying for pursuing someone who could never mean what you do to me.'

Bill Burke patted Jesse on the back, notably moved by his words and display of maturity. He stroked him soothingly, increasingly grateful for their decision to move to Lark Creek. 'It's not your fault Jess; don't blame yourself for that. Leslie wouldn't want you to.'

Jesse shook his head despairingly. 'But it is my fault she's here right now. If I'd been with her, at least I could have pulled her out or gotten help sooner.'

'What's done is done Jess. Leslie would understand.'

'No she wouldn't!' Jesse retorted angrily. 'I love her Mr. Burke! She's the best friend I ever had and the best friend I'll probably ever have if she comes back. I had one chance, one chance to show her how I feel, and I blew it by going with Ms. Edmunds!'

'She loves you too Jess, she loves you and she wants you to know it's not your fault,' interrupted the voice of Mrs. Burke.

Jesse, who'd nearly forgotten the presence of Judy Burke on the other side of Leslie's bed, looked at her disbelievingly. The woman's words an echo, they lingered upon his thoughts while he formulated a response.

'She does?'

It was such a stupid response he mentally kicked himself.

Judy Burke nodded to confirm his doubts. 'She loved and loves you still Jess. Don't lose hope; she's still in there somewhere deep down waiting for us to bring her back. But she needs love Jess, not doubts. We can't question her ability as you and Bill do. We have to be strong if we want her to be strong.'

He managed a weak smile which Judy returned. Taking a hold of Leslie's hand again, he clenched it firmly and began to sob. _I'll wait for you Leslie. I won't let them take you off life support no matter what. I'll always be here for you._

Bill and Judy Burke watched Jesse's tender display of affection and concern for their daughter admiringly. Exchanging a glance at one another, a single unified thought of warmth went through their minds. Their daughter had found a friend after all. Though so young, it was apparent each depended upon the other strongly. However, whether such a bond would prove to be their undoing was another test which would require time to realize.

Leaning back in their seats, Bill and Judy dried off their unshed tears to join Jesse in their vigilance against Mother Nature which sought to take their daughter away. Throughout the night an occasional doctor or nurse would visit them, silently observing a beeping statistical monitor suspended over Leslie, checking for any disturbances in her breathing pattern. None surfaced, though while this indicated their daughter was in a stable condition, it served to only further detriment her outlook which would soon declare her a vegetable. Well aware of the predicament, Bill pulled his wife into a hushed conversation in the early hours of the morning whilst Jesse slept oblivious.

'We need to decide what we want to do Judy. Leslie – we love her; I love her – but it's pointless keeping her in this state.'

'Now isn't the time Bill. We should discuss this later with Jess.'

'It's not his decision!'

'He should have input to corroborate the outcome regardless!'

Bill shook his head and said, 'He's a child Judy. By the time he's thirteen he'll have forgotten all about her. This is both a financial and emotion strain neither of us need and one Jess will have to learn to deal with.'

'Oh? Are you so callous you're prepared to let your daughter die? Was the laugh when you were speaking with Jess' father on the phone this evening a symbol of your limited condolence to the situation?'

Judy's anger was evident in her accusing tone. Bill chose to ignore this, adding quietly, 'that's out of line, Judy. You and I both know I love Leslie and want only what's best for her.'

This was debatable, of course. Conflicted by the stressful demands of his working life writing and publishing novels and his family life, Bill felt his morals colliding in a battle which degraded his judgement. The better part of him knew his wife was right, but the other more dominant part overrode his sense of purity, conjuring excuses for his selfish impulses.

'By putting her down? Is her death acted out of your love for her? Whatever happened to the Bill that would do anything for her daughter, the Bill who promised eight-year-old Leslie he'd never let her go?'

'Judy, enough!'

Bill Burke rose from his chair frustrated by his wife's stubbornness. He paced around the frugal space allotted to them, fidgeting with his glasses and ruffling his hair. His wife remained in her place, saying nothing. Shielded by her hair, a loose tear slid from her left eye. She felt it roll down her cheek, doing nothing.

He had two options to proceed. The first option was simple; order a doctor to disconnect the life support. It could all be over in less than five minutes and afterwards he'd only have to deal with the fury of his wife and Jesse. The second option, one everyone with the exception of himself seemed committed to, was to continue preservation of his daughter by praying she would be graced by another miraculous redemption. Both would involve non-negligible emotional tests of fortitude and endurance, with the latter in his mind an option which would inevitably drive them to the former.

'What did you say to Jess before? Something about being strong, wasn't it?' Bill Burke turned to face his wife. Extending his hands, he knelt before her, gently cupping her face lovingly. 'We'll give her a week and pray to all the deities in the world she comes back to us.'

Relieved, Judy rose to embrace her husband. 'Thank you,' she whispered, having finally noticed the disjointed looks of reproval from the staff who appeared to have been involuntary guests to their heated conservation. The two broke apart, both ready for a night's sleep. Bill glanced at his watch. _One-thirty._ It was going to be a lengthy night.


End file.
